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The mother of Soudan, well of vices,
Efpied hath hire fones pleine entente,
How he wol lete his old facrifices;
And right anon fhe for her confeil fente,
And they ben comen to know what the mente;
And whan affembled was this folk in fere,
She fet hire doun, and fayd as ye shul here:
Lordes, (fhe fayd) ye known everich on
How that my fone in point is for to lete.
The holy lawes of our Aikaron,
Yeven by Goddes Meffager Mahomete;
But on avow to grete God I hete,
The lif fhal rather out of my body fterte
Than Mahometes lawe out of myn herte.
What fhuld us tiden of this newe lawe

But thraldom to our bodies and penance,
And afterward in helle to ben drawe,
For we reneied Mahound our creance?
But, Lordes, wol ye maken affurance,
As I fhal fay, affenting to my lore?
And I fhal make us fauf for evermore.

They fworen and affented every man
To live with hire and die, and by hire stond
And everich on, in the best wise he can,
To ftrengthen hire fhal all his frendes fond.
And the hath this emprife ytaken in hond
Which ye fhull heren that I fhal devife,
And to hem all fhe fpake right in this wife.
We fhul first fein us Criftendom to take;
Cold water fhal not greve us but a lite;
And I fhal fwiche a fefte and revel make
That, as I trow, I fhal the Soudan quite ;
For tho his wif be criftened never fo white
She fhal have nede to wash away the rede
Though fhe a font of water with hire lede.
O Soudanneffe! rote of iniquitee,
Virago thon Semyramee the fecond,
O ferpent under femininitce,

Like to the ferpent depe in helle ybound,
O feined woman! all that may confound
Vertue and innocence, thurgh thy malice
Is bred in thee, as neft of every vice.

O Sathan envious! fin thilke day That thou were chafed from our heritage, Wel knoweft thou to woman the olde way: Thou madeft Eva bring us in fervage, Thou wolt fordon this Criften mariage: Thin inftrument fo (wala wa the while!) -Makeft thou of women whan thou wolt begile. This Soudanneffe, whom I thus blame and warrie, Let prively hire confeil gon hir way: What fhuld I in this Tale longer tarie? She rideth to the Soudan on a day, And fayd him that she wold reinie hire lay, And Cristendom of preftes hondes fong, Repenting hire the Hethen was fo long;

Befeching him to don hire that honour That the might han the Criften folk to feft; To plefen hem I wol do my labour. The Soudan faith, I wol don at your heft, And kneling thanked hire of that request; So glad he was ne n'ifte not what to say, She kit hire fone, and home the goth hire way.

Arrived ben thefe Criften folk to lond In Surrie, with a gret folempne route, And haftily this Soudan fent his fond First to his mother and all the regne aboute, And fayd his wif was comen out of doute, And praide hem for to riden again the quene, The honour of his regne to fuftene.

Gret was the preffe, and riche was th' array Of Surriens and Romanes met in fere. The mother of the Soudan riche and gay Received hire with all fo glad a chere As any mother might hire doughter deres And to the nexte citee ther befide

A fofte pas folempnely' they ride.

Nought trow I the triumph of Julius,
Of which that Lucan maketh fwiche a boft,
Was realler or more curious

Than was th' affemblee of this blisful hoft;
Butte this fcorpion, this wicked goft,
The Soudaneffe, for all hire flattering
Caft under this ful mortally to fting.

The Soudan cometh himself fone after this
So really, that wonder is to tell,
And welcometh hire with alle joy and blis.
And thus in mirth and joye I let hem dwell;
The fruit of this matere is that I tell.
Whan time came, men thought it for the best
That revel stint, and men go to hir reft.

The time come is this olde Soudanneffe Ordeined hath the fefte of which I tolde, And to the fefte Criften folk him dreffe In general, ya, bothe yonge and olde. Ther may men feft and realtee beholde, And deintées mo than I can you devife; But all to dere they bought it or they rife. O foden wo, that ever art fucceffour To worldly blifs! fpreint is with bitterneffe Th' ende of the joye of our worldly labour: Wo occupieth the fyn of our gladneffe. Herken this confeil for thy likerneffe, Upon thy glade day have in thy minde The unware wo of harme that cometh behinde. For fhortly for to tellen at a word, The Soudan and the Criften everich on Ben all to-hewe and ftiked at the bord But it were only Dame Cuftance alone. This old Soudaneffe, this curfed crone, Hath with hire frendes don this curfed dede, For the hirefelf wold all the contree lede.

Ne ther was Surrien non that was converted That of the confeil of the Soudan wot, That he n'as all to-hewe er he afterted; And Cuftance han they taken anon fote-hot, Aud in a fhip ali ftereles (God wot) They han hire fet, and bidden hire lerne fayle Out of Surrie againward to Itaille.

A certain trefor that the thither ladde, And foth to fayn vitaille gret plentee, They han hire yeven, and clothes eke she hadde, And forth the fayleth in the falte fee. O my Cuftance! ful of benignitee, O Emperoures yonge doughter dere! He that is Lord of fortune be thy ftere.

She bleffeth hire, and with ful pitious vois
Unto the crois of Crift thus fayde fhe:
O clere, o weleful auter, holy crois!
Red of the Lambes blood ful of pitee,
That wefh the world fro the old iniquitee,
Me fro the fende and fro his clawes kepe
That day that I fhal drenchen in the depe.
Victorious tree, protection of trewe,
That only worthy were for to bere
The King of heven with his woundes newe,
The white Lamb, that hurt was with a spere;
Flemer of fendes out of him and here

On which thy limmes faithfully extenden,
Me kepe, and yeve me might my lif to amenden.
Yeres and dayes fleet this creature
Thurghout the fee of Grece, unto the Straite
Of Maroc, as it was hire aventure :
On many a fory mele now may fhe baite;
After hire deth ful often may fhe waite,
Or that the wilde waves wol hire drive
Unto the place ther as the fhal arive.

Men mighten afken why she was not flain?
Eke at the fefte who might hire body fave ?
And I anfwer to that demand again,
Who faved Daniel in the horrible cave,
Ther every wight fave he, mafter or kuave,
Was with the leon frette or he afterte?
No wight but God, that he bare in his herte.
God lift to fhew his wonderful miracle
In hire, for we fhuld feen his mighty werkes :
Crift, which that is to every harm triacle,
By certain menes oft, as knewen clerkes,
Doth thing for certain ende that ful derke is
To mannes wit, that for our ignorance
Ne can nat know his prudent purveiance.

Now fith fhe was not at the feste yflawe,
Who kepte hire fro the drenching in the fee?
Who kept Jonas in the fishes mawe,
Til he was spouted up at Ninevee ?
Wel may men know it was no wight but he
That kept the peple Ebraike fro drenching,
With drye feet thurghout the fee paffing.

Who bade the foure fpirits of tempeft,
That power han to anoyen lond and fee,
Both north and fouth, and alfo weft and eft,
Anoyen nether fee, ne lond, ne tree?
Sothly the commander of that was he
That fro the tempeft ay this woman kepte
As wel whan fhe awoke as whan fhe flepte.
Wher might this woman mete and drinke have?
Three yere and more how lafteth hire vitaille? -
Who fed the Egyptian Mary in the cave

Or in defert? no wight but Crist fans faille.
Five thousand folk it was a gret marvaille
With loves five and fishes two to fede:
God fent his foyfon at hire grete nede.
She driveth forth into our ocean
Thurghout our wide fee, til at the laft
Under an hold, that nempnen I ne can,
Fer in Northumberlond, the wave hire caft,
And in the fand hire fhip ftiked so fast
That thennes wolde it not in all a tide :
The wille of Crift was that the fhulde abide,

The Conftable of the caftle doun is fare To feen this wrecke, and al the fhip he fought, And fond this very woman ful of care; He fond alfo the trefour that the brought : In hire langage mercy fhe befought, The lif out of hire body for to twinne, Hire to deliver of wo that she was inne.

A maner Latin corrupt was hire fpeche, But algate therby was the underftond. The Conftable, whan him lift no longer feche, This woful woman brought he to the lond. She kneleth doun, and thanketh Goddes fond; But what he was the wolde no man feye For foule ne faire, though that ye hulde deye. She faid fhe was 'fo mafed in the fee That the forgate hire minde, by hire trouth. The Conftable hath of hire fo grét pitee, And eke his wif, that they wepen for routh a She was fo diligent withouten flouth To ferve and plefen everich in that place, That all hire love that loken in hire face.

The Conftable and Dame Hermegild his wif Were Payenes, and that contree every wher; But Hermegild loved Cuftance as hire lif; And Cuftance hath fo long fojourned ther In orifons, with many a bitter tere, Til Jefu hath converted thurgh his grace Dame Hermegild, Conftableffe of that place. In all that lond no Criften dorite route; All Criften folk ben fled fro that contree Thurgh Payenes, that conquereden all abouté The plages of the north by lond and fee. To Wales fled the Christianitee Of olde Bretons dwelling in this ile; Ther was hir refuge fer the mene while.

But yet n'ere Criften Bretons fo exiled That ther n'ere fom which in hir privitee Honoured Crift, and Hethen folk begiled, And neigh the caftle fwiche ther dwelten three: That on of hem was blind, and might not fee, But it were with thilke eyen of his minde, With which men mowen fee whan they ben blinde, Bright was the fonne as in that fommers day, For which the Conftable and his wif alfo, And Cuftance, han ytake the righte way Toward the fee a furlong way or two, To plaien and to romen to and fro, And in hir walk this blinde man they mette, Croked and olde, with eyen faft yfhette.

In the name of Crift, (cried this blinde Breton) Dame Hermegild, yeve me my fight again. This lady wexe afraied of that foun, Left that hire hufbond, fhortly for to fain, Wold hire for Jefu Criftes love have flain, Till Cuftance made hire bold, and bad hire werche The will of Crift, as doughter of holy cherche. The Conftable wexe abafhed of that fight, And fayde, What amounteth all this fare? Cuftance anfwered, Sire, it is Criftes might, That helpeth foik out of the fendes fnare: And fo ferforth fhe gan our lay declare, That the the Constable, er that it were eve, Converted, and on Crift made him beleve.

This Conftable was not lord of the place Of which I fpeke, ther as he Caftance fond, But kept it strongly many a winter space Under Alla King of Northumberlond, That was ful wife, and worthy of his hond Againe the Scottes, as men may wel here; But tourne I wol againe to my matere.

Sathan, that ever us waiteth to begile,
Saw of Cuftance all hire perfectioun,
And caft anon how he might quite hire while,
And made a yonge knight, that dwelt in that toun,
Love hire fo hote of foule affectioun,
That veraily him thought that he shuld spille
But he of hire might ones han his wille.

He wooth hire, but it availeth nought;
She wolde do 5 finne by no wey;
And for defpit he compaffed his thought
To maken hire on fhameful deth to dey:
He waiteth whan the Conftable is away,
And privily upon a night he crepte
In Hermegildes chambre while fhe flepte.
Wery, forwaked in hire orifons,
Slepeth Cuftance, and Hermegilde alfo.
This knight, thurgh Sathanes temptations,
All foftely is to the bed ygo,

And cut the throte of Hermegilde atwo,
And layd the bloody knif by Dame Custance,
And went his way, ther God yeve him mifchance.
Sone after cometh this Conftable home again,
And eke Alla, that king was of that lond,
And faw his wife defpitoufly yflain,
For which ful oft he wept and wrong his hond;
And in the bed the blody knif he fond
By Dame Cuftance. Alas! what might she say!
For veray wo hire wit was all away.

To King Alla was told all this mischance,
And eke the time, and wher, and in what wife,
That in a fhip was fonden this Cuftance,
As here before ye han herd me devife:
The kinges herte of pitee gan agrife
Whan he faw fo benigne a creature
Fall in difefe ar 1 in mifaventure.

For as the lamb toward his deth is brought,
So ftant this innocent beforn the king:
This falfe knight, that hath this trefon wrought,
Bereth hire in hond that she hath don this thing:
But natheles there was gret murmuring
Among the peple, and fayn they cannot geffe
That the had don fo great a wickedneffe;

For they han feen hire ever fo vertuous,
And loving Hermegild right as hire lif.
Of this bare witneffe everich in that hous,
Save he that Hermegild flow with his knif.
This gentil king hath caught a gret motif
Of this witnefs, and thought he wold enquere
Deper in this cas, trouthe for to lere.

Alas! Cuftance, thou haft no champion,
Ne fighten cant thou not, fo wala wa!
But he that starf for our redemption,
And bond Sathan, and yet lith ther he lay,
So be thy fronge champion this day:
For but if Crift on thee miracle kithe,
Withouten gilt thou shalt be flain as fwithe.
She fut hire doan on laces, and thus the fayde;

Immort al God! that favedit Susanne
Fro falfe bleme, and thou merciful mayde,
Mary I mene, doughter to Seint Anne,
Beforn whos child angels fingen Ofanne.
If I be gilteles of this felonie

'My focour be, or elles fhal I die.

Have ye not feen fomtime a pale face (Among a prees) of him that hath ben lad Toward his deth, where as he getteth no grace, And swiche a colour in his face hath had, Men mighten know him that was so bestad Amonges all the faces in that route, So ftant Cuftance, and loketh hire aboute. O quenes living in profperitee, Ducheffes, and ye ladies everich on! Haveth fom routhe on hire adverfitee, An emperoures doughter stant alone;

She hath no wight to whom to make hire mone.

O blood real, that ftondeft in this drede,
Fer ben the frendes in thy grete nede!

This Alla king hath fwiche compaffioun,
As gentil herte is ful filled of pitee,
That fro his eyen ran the water doun.
Now haftily do fecche a book, quod he,
And if this knight wol fweren how that she
This woman flow, yet wol we us avise,
Whom that we wol that fhal ben our justice.

A Breton book, written with Evangiles,
Was fet, and on this book he swore anon
She giltif was, and in the mene whiles
An hond him fmote upon the nekke bone,
That doun he fell at ones as a stone,
And both his eyen broft out of his face
In fight of every body in that place.

A voice was herd, in general audience,
That fayd, Thou haft desclandered gilteles
The doughter of holy chirche in high presence
Thus haft thou don, and yet hold I my pees.
Of this mervaille agaft was all the prees;
As mafed folk they ftonden everich on
For drede of wreche, fave Cuftance alone.
Gret was the drede and eke the repentance
Of hem that hadden wronge suspection
Upon this fely innocent Cuftance:
And for this miracle, in conclufion,
And by Cuftances mediation,

The king, and many another in that place,
Converted was, thanked be Criftes grace.

This falfe knight was flain for his untrouthe By jugement of Alla haftily;

And yet Cuftance had of his deth gret routhe; And after this Jefus of his mercy

Made Alla wedden ful folempnely

This holy woman, that is fo bright and shene;
And thus hath Crift ymade Cuftance a quene.

But who was woful (if I fhall not lie)
Of this wedding but Donegild, and no mo,
The kinges mother, full of tyrannie?
Hire thoughte hire curfed herte braft atwo;
She wolde not that hire fone had do fo:
Hire thoughte a defpit that he fhulde take
So frange a creature unto his make.

Me lift not of the chaf ne of the stre
Maken fo long a tale as of the corn.
What fhuld I tellen of the realtee

Of this marriage, or which cours goth beforn,
Who bloweth in a trompe or in an horn?
The fruit of every tale is for to say;
They ete and drink, and dance, and fing, and play.
They gon to bed, as it was skill and right,
For though that wives ben ful holy thinges,
They moften take in patience a night
Swiche maner neceffaries, as ben plefinges
To folk that han ywedded hem with ringes.
And lay a lite hir holiness aside
As for the time, it may no het betide.

On hire he gat a knave childe anon,
And to a bishop, and his Constable eke,
He toke his wif to kepe, when he is gon
To Scotland ward, his fomen for to seke.
Now faire Cuftance, that is so humble and meke,
So long is gen with childe til that still
She halt hire chambre, abiding Criftes will.

The time is come, a knave child she bere;
Mauricius at the fontstone they him calle.
This Constable doth forth come a messager,
And wrote unto his king that cleped was Alle,
How that this blisful tiding is befalle,
And other tidings fpedeful for to say.
He hath the lettre, and forth he goth his way.
This messager, to don his avantage,
Unto the kinges mother rideth fwithe,
And falueth hire ful faire in his langage.
Madame, quod he, ye may be glad and blithe,
And thanken God an hundred thousand fithe;
My lady quene hath child, withouten doute,
To joy and bliffe of all this regne aboute.

Lo here the lettre feled of this thing,
That I most bere in all the haft I may :
If ye wol ought unto your sone the king,
I am your fervant bothe night and day.
Donegilde anfwerd, As now at this time nay;
But here I wol all night thou take thy rest,
To-morwe wol I fay thee what me left.

This meflager drank fadly ale and wine,
And ftolen were his lettres prively
Out of his box, while he flept as a swine;
And contrefeted was ful fubtilly
Another lettre, wrought ful finfully,
Unto the king directe of this matere
Fro his Conftable, as ye fhal after here.
This lettre spake, the quene delivered was
Of fo horrible a fendliche creature,
That in the caftle non fo hardy was
That any while dorst therein endure:
The mother was an elf by aventure
Ycome, by charmes or by forcerie,
And everich man hateth hire compagnie.

Wo was this king when he this lettre had fein.
But to no wight he told his forwes fore,
But of his owen hand he wrote again;
Welcome the fonde of Crift for evermore
To me, that am now lerned in his lore:
Lord, welcome be thy luft and thy plefance;
My luft I put all in thyn ordinance.

Kepeth this child, al be it foule or faire,
And eke my wif, unto min home coming:
Crift whan him lift may fenden me an heire
More agreable than this to my liking.
This lettre he feled, prively weping

Which to the meffager was taken fone,
And forth he goth, there is no more to done.
O meflager fulfilled of dronkeneffe!
Strong is thy breth, thy limmes faitren ay,
And thou bewreieft alle fecreneffe;
Thy mind is lorne, thou jangleft as a jay;
Thy face is tourned in a new array:
Ther dronkeneffe regneth in any route
Ther is no confeil hid withouten doute.

O'Donegild! I ne have non English digne
Unto thy malice and thy tyrannie,
And therfore to the fende I thee refigne.
Let him enditen of thy traitorie.
Fy, mannish, fy! o nay, by God I lie;
Fy, fendliche fpirit! for I dare well telle,
Though thou here walke, thy spirit is in helle.

This meffager cometh fro the king again,
And at the kinges modres court he light,
And fhe was of this meffager ful fayn,
And plefed him in all that ever the might.
He dranke and wel his girdel underpight;
He flepeth and he snoreth in his gife
All night until the fonne gan arise.

Eft were his lettres ftolen everich on,
And contrefeted lettres in this wife.
The king commanded his Conftable anon,
Up peine of hanging and of high jewise,
That he ne fhulde foffran in no wife
Cuftance within his regne for to abide
Three daies and a quarter of a tide;

But in the fame ship as he hire fond
Hire and hire yonge fone, and all hire gere,
He fhulde put, and croude hire fro the lond,
And charge hire that she never eft come there.
O my Cuftance! wel may thy ghost have fere,
And fleping in thy dreme ben in penance,
Whan Donegild cast all this ordinance.

This messager on morwe whan he awoke
Unto the caftel halt the nexte way,
And to the Conftable he the lettre toke;
And whan that he this pitous lettre fey
Ful oft he fayd Alas, and wala wa!
Lord Chrift, quod he, how may this world endure
So ful of finne is many a creature?

O mighty God! if that it be thy will,
Sin thou art rightful juge, how may it be
That thou wolt foffren innocence to spill,
And wicked folk regne in profperitce?
A good Cuftance, alas! fo wo is me,
That I mote be thy turmentour, or dey
On fhames deth, ther is non other wey.

Wepen both yonge and olde in all that place
Whan that the king this curfed lettre fent :
And Cuftance with a dedly pale face
The fourthe day toward the fhip fhe went;
But natheless she taketh in good entent
The will of Crift, and kneling on the ftrond
She fayde, Lord, ay welcome be thy fond.
He that me kepte fro the falfe blame,
While I was in the lond amonges you,
He can me kepe fro harme and eke fro fhame
In the falt fee, although I fe not how :
As ftrong as ever he was he is yet now :
In him trust I, and in his mother dere,
That is to me my fail and eke my ftere.

Hire litel child lay weping in hire arm,

And kneling pitously to him she said,

Pees, litel fone, I wol do thee no harm:

Maketh for his wif and for his child affo,
Ther is no tonge that it tellen may.
But now wol I agen to Cuftance go,

And over his litel eyen fhe it laid,

And in hire arme fhe lulleth it ful faft,
And into the heven hire cyen up the caft.

Mother, quod fhe, and mayden, bright Marie!
Soth is that thurgh womanes eggement
Mankind was lorne, and damned ay to die,
For which thy child was on a crois yrent:
Thy blifsful eyen faw all his turment,
Than is ther no comparifon betwene
Thy wo and any woman may fuftene.

Thou faw thy child yflain before thin eyen,
And yet now liveth my litcl child parfay:
Now, Lady bright! to whom all woful crien,
Thou glory of womanhed, thou faire May!
Thou haven of refute, bright fterre of day!
Rew on my child, that of thy gentillefle
Reweft on every rewful in diftreffe.

O litel child, alas! what is thy gilt,
That never wroughteft finne as yet parde?
Why wol thin harde father have thee fpilt?
O mercy, dere Conftable! (quod fhe)
As let my litel child dwell here with thee;
And if thou darft not faven him fro blame,
So kiffe him ones in his fadres name.

Therwith the loketh backward to the lond,
And faide, Farewel, houtbond routheles!
And up the rift, and walketh doun the ftrond
Toward the fhip; hire foloweth all the prees:
And ever fhe praicth hire child to hold his pees,
And taketh hire leve, and with an holy entent
She bleffed hire, and into the hip fhe went.

Vitailled was the fhip, it is no drede, Habundantly for hire a ful long fpace; And other neceffaries that fhuld nede She had ynow, heried be Goddes grace: For wird and wether, almighty God purchace, And bring hire home, I can no better fay, But in the fee fhe driveth forth hire way.

Alla the king cometh home fone after this Unto his caftel, of the which I told, And afketh wher his wif and his child is; The Conftable gan about his herte cold, And plainly all the matere he him told As ye han herd, I can tell it no better, And fhewed the king his fele and his letter; And faide, Lord, as ye commanded me Up peine of deth, fo have I don certain. This meflager turmented was til he Mofte bekrowe, and tellen plat and plain Fro night to night in what place he had lain: And thus by wit and fubtil enquering Imagined was by whom this harm gan fpring. The hand was knowen that the lettre wrote, And all the verime of this curfed dede, But in what wife certainly.I n'ot. The effect is this, that Alla out of drede His moder flew, that moun men plainly rede, For that the traitour was to hire ligeance. Thus ended this old Doregild with mefchance. The forwe that this Alla night and day

Five yere and more, as liked Criftes fonde,
Or that hire fhip approched to the londe.
Under an Hethen caftel at the last,
(Of which the name in my text I not find)
Cuftance and eke hire child the fee up caft.
Almighty God, that faved all mankind,
Have on Cuftance and on hire child font mind
That fallen is in Hethen hond eftfone
In point to fpill, as I fhal tell you fone.
Doun fro the caftel cometh ther many a wight
To gauren on this fhip and on Cuftance:
But shortly fro the caftel on a night,
The lordes fteward, (God-yeve him mefchance)
A theef that had reneyed our creance,
Came into the fhip alone, and faid he wolde
Hire lemman be whether the wolde or n'olde.
Wo was this wretched woman tho begon;
Hire child cried, and the cried pitously;
But blifsful Mary halpe hire right anon,
For with hire ftrogling wel and mightily
The theef fell over bord all fodenly,
And in the fee he drenched for vengeance;
And thus hath Crift unwemmed kept Cuftance.
O foule luft of luxurie! lo thin ende,
Not only that thou fainteft mannes mind,
But veraily thou wolt his body hende.
Th' ende of thy werk, or of thy luttes blind,
Is complaining how many may men find
That not for werk fometime, but for th' entent
To don this finne, ben eyther flain or fhent ?
How may this weke woman han the strength
Hire to defend again this renegate ?

:

O Golias! unmefurable of length,
How mighte David maken thee fo mate?
So yenge, and of armure fo defolate,
How dorit he loke upon thy dredful face?
Wel may men feen it was but Goddes grace.
Who yaf Judith corage or hardinefie
To fieen him Holofernes in his tent,
And to deliver out of wretchedneffe
The peple of God? I fay for this entent,
That right as God fpirit of vigour fent
To hem, and faved liem out of mefchance,
So fent he might and vigour to Cuftance.

Forth goth hire fhip thurghout the narwe mouth
Of Jubaltere and Sept, driving alway,
Sometime weft, and fometime north and fouth
And fometime eft, ful many a wery day,
Til Crifles moder (bleffed be fhe ay)
Hath fhapen thurgh hire endeles goodneffe
To make an end of all hire hevineffe.

Now let us stint of Cuftance but a throw,
And fpeke we of the Romane emperour,
That out of Surrie hath by lettres knowe
The flaughter of Criften folk, and dishonour
Don to his doughter by a falfe traitour,
I mene the curfed wicked Soudanneffe,
That at the felt let fleen both more and leffe.

For which this emperour hath fent anon
His fenatour, with real ordinance,